


i found my reach exceeds my grasp

by brian_zeller



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brief Depictions of Violence, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fishing, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, awkward christmas work party, set post early s3 where will doesnt go to europe and beverly is still alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brian_zeller/pseuds/brian_zeller
Summary: “It’s good to find new things in life to want,” Chilton mused, “to find something to keep us inspired.”“What inspires you Frederick?” Will asked, “What do you yearn for?”“Distraction,” Chilton replied. He looked over at Will to find him smiling as if Chilton’s answer was amusing. It was not a full lie, Chilton found distraction in the way that Will moved around him. Distraction in the small press of his fingers in his side as Will slid behind Chilton in Will’s kitchen as they drank wine and ignored the way they would never be the same. Ignored that they were spared. Will was his distraction and he yearned for him.Will and Chilton go fishing.





	i found my reach exceeds my grasp

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [this poem](https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_settled_sweetness_in_love_663174)
> 
> this has been the most fun writing experience i've had, i've spent around 5-6 months writing this and researching in depth how to fly fish/aftercare of fishing/how to tie lures and i'm really gonna miss that. posting this is such a bittersweet feeling. 
> 
> another huge shout out to abby for a) giving me the idea, b) listening to me nonstop talk about it, and c) reading it before i posted it.
> 
> [playlist](https://8tracks.com/aaronabrams/i-found-my-reach-exceeds-my-grasp)

The Turkish blue sheets moved underneath Will’s restless legs. From side to side, as if rocking in a boat unanchored. He swam in them. Another night of missing sleep, haunted by thoughts and ideas that were not his own. He grasped the pillow, muffling his infinite screams. Beads of sweat coasted down his back, pooling in the blue surrounding him. He slowed his breathing, hands on the pillow in a death grip, eyes still closed.

Around him came the sounds of morning, his dogs walking across the cold hardwood, birds chirping as the sun rose.  _ Breathe in, breathe out _ , he told himself. He dropped the pillow, braving the day. It was still half dark outside, his plastic blinds not warding off the sun. Will looked at the clock – 5:23 a.m. – and headed into the kitchen to make another pot of cheap and bitter coffee. The steam, produced by his cheap brewer, ran across his face, dancing in the stubble on his jaw. He stared out the window, sheer moss green curtains barely blocking his view, watching for the shadowy deer haunting his dreams. At his feet, Winston whined, begging for attention, the unnamed leader of the pack. Will mindlessly scratched between Winston’s ears, a promise to hear his complaints, as he held his speckled mug filled to the brim. 

Will carried on with his day, mouth unmoving and words stuck behind his teeth, although there was no audience for those trapped sounds. No sign of the deer so far.

\-----

The doorbell rang. It was Sunday, Will Graham was in Wolf Trap, Virginia. He was still himself, his sheets were still blue, his dogs still needed to be looked after. The doorbell rang again, almost sounding frantic although the tune never changed, was not capable of displaying emotion.

Will opened the door, clad in a sweaty white wife beater and green plaid boxers. The sun was too bright, his hand shielded his eyes.

“Did I wake you?” Chilton spoke, somewhere in the sunlight on the other side of the old screen door. “Never mind, I brought breakfast.”

Will backed away from the door, letting Chilton come in. It was still new, whatever  _ it  _ was. Sometimes Chilton would show up at Will’s door with some sort of peace offering — a hunter green cashmere scarf for the long walks he took his dogs on, overpriced coffee, a still warm dinner in the kitchen after a long day at the bureau. Chilton scuttled past him, cheeks pink from the cold and early morning. He set down the tupperware, shedding his crimson peacoat and dusting off some fallen snow from the trees surrounding Will’s place. Removing his winter coat, like a fox stepping into spring.

“Hungry?” Chilton asked, his back to Will. Will moved forward in silence, dropping into the barstool adjacent to Chilton’s own place in the kitchen. Inside the glass containers there was crisp brioche bread, topped with what appeared to be homemade whip cream and elderberry jam. Nothing substantial, a false idea of domesticity.

“Not really.” Will took a sip from his coffee, still accepting the food from Chilton’s hand. Their knuckles, raw from the wind, brushed and stung both of them. They scowled, simultaneously, looking away from each other.

“I really should bring some moisturizer over sometime,” Chilton said, “Lord knows you need it.” Chilton gently picked up his own piece of bread, nibbling at the end like a picky child.  

Will ignored him, shoving the bread into his mouth. Some of the cream and jam fell back into the container from the rapturous approach. Chilton eyed him, hand itching to wipe away the spot of jam on the corner of Will’s lip. Will met his eyes, and beat Chilton to the jam by wiping with his bare wrist. They continued eating in silence.

After the meal Will set the dishes in the sink, a chore for later.

“Could I have some coffee?” Chilton asked, sitting in the old cloth recliner. His eyes were watching the pack of dogs, half disgusted and half in affection. His ankles were crossed, tucked close to the chair. His hair, briefly dampened from the snow on his walk to the door, was dry once more and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. His horrible, overpriced gel not ruining it for once. He looked peaceful, at home in his dark red turtleneck, trying awkwardly to blend in with the blues and greens of Will’s home.

“You know where it is,” Will replied after a moment’s delay. Chilton wordlessly nodded, not moving. He stayed there, just resting and watching a far off bird circle around the branches outside. Will watched him, annoyance in his gentle stare. Eventually, Will gave up, brewing the coffee for Chilton. From the recliner, Chilton smiled, hand moving to pet the smallest dog in the pack. Chilton had a gentle affinity for the harmless ones, something that carried over to his affections for Will in the early morning light. Chilton’s hand moved slowly through the clipped fur of Will’s jack russell terrier mix, eyes coasting along the stone in the fireplace, taking in the paintings of the woods just outside the door. The fireplace was unlit, unused in the years that Will resided in the house.

“Here.” Will set down the mug of cheap coffee on the wooden table next to Chilton. A drop of coffee — with cream and a teaspoon of sugar added, just how Chilton always took it — slid down the side of the gray mug, slipping onto the hand cut wooden coaster. Chilton nodded a thanks, meeting the mug to his mouth, lips cracked and dry from the snow and wind.

“Will,” Chilton said. “This really is awful coffee.”

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “You’ve had it before, you should know what to expect.”

“And yet,” Chilton took another sip, nose crinkled — it’d be somewhat endearing if he wasn’t constantly undermining and annoying Will — “I pray it will get better.”

Will rolled his eyes, heaving a deep sigh, before turning to go upstairs and shower. Chilton finished his coffee and went back for a second cup during the time Will was gone.

\-----

Will’s hands moved delicately over and under the small, sharp hook. He pulled the string taut, tying an assortment of colorful feathers to the lure. His hands were weathered from practice, a certain dedication to the craft. Chilton was absolutely mesmerized. He stared through the window, not yet brave enough to creep to the door and disturb Will from his day’s work. Will hadn’t noticed him yet, head tilted downwards, eyebrows furrowed as he spun knot after knot around the feathers and hook. The perfect bait to catch both fish and Chilton alike. Chilton could stay there all day, just watching from the outside world, studying the careful composure of Will’s strong grip, how taut his back was over his desk. He could have if one of the dogs didn’t alert Will of his visitor.

Will stilled and Chilton froze as their eyes met. Chilton huffed out, awkward smile filling his face as the breath swarmed the space around him, meeting the glass and briefly shielding Will from his view. Will pushed back his chair, muttering something under his breath, and headed towards the door to let Chilton in.

“Sorry,” Chilton said, meeting Will at the door. Chilton sidestepped into the living room, hand brushing Will’s side in doing so. “I brought some wine to pair with dinner.”

“I prefer whiskey,” Will replied, voice scratchy from not using it all day. The door shut behind them, with a subtle thud and a creak from age.    

“I thought we could add some class,” Chilton said, putting the expensive bottle of wine down with a thud. Will hummed in response and turned back to clean up his station.

Chilton watched him move the feathers aside, dropping the hooks back into his toolbox of fishing gear. “Is that how you caught dinner?”

Will kept his hands busy, untying and retying some string around a rusty hook found at the bottom of his toolbox. He replied, tone brash, “It’s winter Frederick.”

Chilton huffed, crossing his arms then uncrossing them just as quick. “I meant,” he tossed his hand around dramatically, looking for the right words. “ _ Whenever  _ you caught it.”

“Well,” Will looked dumbfounded, “yeah.”

Chilton just nodded. Will went back to cleaning up, setting down the rusty hook.

“I’d love to join you sometime,” Chilton added. Will opened his mouth but Chilton beat him to it, “Obviously,  _ not _ in Winter. Whenever one tends to go fishing.”

“Oh,” Will said, staring down at the desk. Behind him Chilton stood awkwardly in the tiny kitchen, sun setting in the window to his left and his jaw tight as he awaited Will’s response. “Yeah, we could do that sometime.”

“Good,” Chilton nodded, voice clipped. “Sounds good. Can’t wait.”

Will half smiled, a humorous tension between the two of them. He moved into the kitchen to begin cooking the thawed trout he caught last fishing season, his shoulder barely brushing Chilton’s own as he moved past him. Will began warming up the pan, setting the butter onto the skillet once it was hot enough. Chilton watched as the butter sizzled in the heat, comparing it to his own heat where he held his sweater clad shoulder, where seconds ago Will barely touched him. A small sign of affection that Chilton was starving for.    

“Frederick?” Will asked, tossing the fish into the pan. Chilton dropped his hand. “Can you get some plates out?”

“Yeah,” Chilton replied, voice strained. “Yes. Need anything else?”

Will thought it over for a moment, watching the fish beginning to cook. “I have some frozen vegetables you can heat up.” Chilton nodded, moving to the freezer. Will didn’t say anything else, just watched the skin sizzle and cook. Occasionally he’d move the fish around the pan, checking its status, or he’d throw a bit more pepper in the general direction of the fish.

Chilton popped a tiny hole into the bag of frozen broccoli, peas and carrots. “I could have brought some fresh vegetables.” He turned on the microwave, watching them spin in the radioactive light for a short second. “Next time just let me know.”

Will hummed, still just watching the fish. Chilton nodded silently again and began taking out the speckled stoneware plates, setting heavy and clunky silverware next to it on the kitchen island.

“What kind of wine did you bring?” Will asked. The microwave timer beeped, letting Chilton know to grab the vegetables. He grabbed a matching, and also speckled, bowl and poured them in, mixing in some butter and pepper to at least  _ try  _ and make them somewhat edible.

“Oh,” Chilton replied, “a 2003  _ Vina Tondonia Blanco Reserva _ , it’s from Spain. I read that a white blend paired well with rainbow trout, it has a more dry and citrusy approach. Care to try some?”

“Sure,” Will replied, moving the cooked fish onto a cracked, almost appearing to be broken and glued together multiple times, serving platter.

“That smells delicious,” Chilton noted, pouring the wine into a Viognier glass he had brought himself. He specifically bought an expensive pair to go alongside the wine he out auctioned from a newly engaged couple at the store he found it at, nestled amongst other expensive whites. He handed the half-filled glass to Will, waiting his approval.

Will swirled it around before swallowing it all down in one vicious gulp. Chilton let out a choked gasp, he paid fifty dollars for this bottle. Will handed back the glass for more, “It’s alright. I could see how this would go with the fish.”

Chilton nodded, at a loss for words, as he filled the glass halfway again. Will took in one hand, not yet drinking it, as he served half the fish to Chilton and half to himself. They took seats parallel to each other and began eating, casually sipping the wine alongside the microwaved vegetables and perfectly cooked trout. No words were shared between the pair, exempt for Chilton’s final praise as he took his last bite. Will thought to himself, as he slowly sipped his glass this second time around, that the wine  _ did _ pair well with the fish.

“So,” Will mused, staring into the last dregs of his glass, pondering his next choice of words. In the kitchen Chilton was delicately scrubbing at the dishes, going over them in methodical circles. “There’s a Christmas party at the bureau this Friday. Would you, uh,” Will splashed back the remaining sip in his heavy glass, “Like to come?”

Chilton’s hand slowed over the plate, water running over his wrists. “Isn’t it a bureau only deal of sorts?”

“Nobody really cares,” Will replied. “There’s mini parties for each department, but I can’t stand going to the teacher only one.”

“Oh,” Chilton resumed washing the plate, cheeks red and hidden from Will’s relaxed gaze. “Then, yes. I’d love to come.”

Will nodded, filling both his and Chilton’s empty glasses.

\-----

Chilton walked into the room, clad in a deep burgundy wool sweater, his charcoal double breasted wool coat casually, but precisely, draped over his right arm. The small crowd milled about, plastic cups filled with a heavy scented punch. Chilton’s eyes darted around the room until they landed on Will, dressed in a tacky, gray sweater with three fish adorned with Santa caps. Chilton took the few strides over to Will, unsure of his place in all of this.

“Dr. Chilton,” Beverly Katz greeted him, air of surprise around her.

“Evening,” Chilton replied, curt nod, eyes darting back to Will who just stood there sipping his own cup of punch. “Is there somewhere I can hang this?” He lifted his arm, showing off his expensive and slightly damp coat.

“Just throw it somewhere,” Beverly answered, eyes going back and forth between Chilton and Will. Will, the cup still close to his pursed mouth, had said nothing to Chilton. Chilton nodded, going to set his coat somewhere, neatly, on the couch where there was a small pile of discarded winter jackets. Chilton recognized Will’s own long gray coat, and the scarf that Chilton had randomly gifted him, on the outskirts of the heap. It momentarily warmed Chilton’s heart as he set down his jacket alongside Will’s.     

“What’s Chilton doing here?” Chilton heard Jimmy Price ask, voice too loud for the rude tone he displayed. Chilton pretended he couldn’t hear as he moved to the one table in the room, holding a half empty cheese and fruit platter and a large bowl of punch. As Chilton scooped a serving of punch into his plastic cup he could half make out the small group casually discussing him. Beverly looked blasé as Will simply told them he had invited Chilton. Price and Zeller, who were holding hands, seemed surprised but shrugged it off.

Chilton wormed his way back into the group, tight hold of his punch — which was acting as his security blanket for the evening. Zeller whispered something into Price’s ear, something along the line of mistletoe.

“Evening,” Chilton said to the group, lifting his glass in a sense of false camaraderie. “Thanks again to Will for allowing me to join you all tonight.”

Will gave a hum of a response. Beverly gave a sweet, but recognizably forced, smile.

“How do you like the punch?” Price smiled, his free hand gently knocking against Chilton’s elbow. Chilton took a half step back, out of surprise. Zeller eyed him, similar look to his interrogation of Chilton just last year, his arm now slung around Price’s shoulders.

“Very good,” Chilton took a sip to emphasize his point, although he truly didn’t care much for it. “Strong.”      

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause Jimmy poured nearly every fuckin’ bottle of alcohol into it,” Zeller laughed, eyes still sharp and trained on Chilton. “Guess that makes me a pretty shitty sponsor.”

“The stronger the better,” Beverly joined in, her own glass empty.

“Just don’t pull what you did last year,” Price warned, twinkle in his eyes and crow’s feet spreading, laugh lines becoming visible.

“It worked didn’t it?” Beverly laughed, motioning to Zeller and Price’s ever conjoined status.

“Maybe on  _ us _ ,” Zeller quipped back, voice gruff but filled with a warm and deep sort of chuckle. His eyes looked between Will and Chilton.

“What, dare I ask, happened?” Chilton piped up, wanting to fit in and desperately wanting to not be ignored. His eyes landed once more on Will, who had a small and almost, shy, smile on his clean-shaven face. His hair, normally loose and wild, was trimmed and partially styled, showing off his face. Chilton made note to tell Will later how good it looked on him, if he ever built up the courage to do so.

“Don’t look at me,” Will said, free hand in the air and the beginning of a chuckle on his tongue, “I wasn’t there.”

“Beverly, bless her heart,” Price began, “locked me and dear Brian here in the janitor’s closet, forcing us to confront our deeply unresolved feelings. It was  _ very  _ steamy.” Price’s eyes flitted up to Zeller’s profile, smile and blush filling his face.

Zeller looked down, meeting Price’s admiring gaze, “Clearly it worked.”

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t get any ideas,” Will added, eyes briefly meeting Chilton’s.

Chilton nervously chuckled, “Yeah.” Although, he didn’t fully grasp what he was agreeing too, perhaps Will thought that the rest of the team would think there was something between them. Which Will would certainly not like, Chilton thought, the small feeling of warmth from earlier quickly vanishing. Beverly shrugged, going to get another glass of punch. Zeller and Price quickly followed after her, likely going to bother Jack who was in the corner quietly chatting with a face that Chilton did not recognize.

“I like the sweater,” Chilton nervously said.

“It was a gift from Bev,” Will replied, soft smile on his face.

“It’s a good look,” Chilton said, testing the water, “You look good tonight.”

Will’s face dropped, nervousness filling the area where a smile just resided. “Thank you,” He downed the rest of his punch, “You too.”

Chilton smiled, slight blush warming his cheeks. Out of habit his hand reached up to the bullet wound, covered in carefully applied foundation and slight stubble. “Thank you. And thank you again for inviting me, I don’t, as you know, usually get to come to these sorts of things.”

“I guess it’d be cruel to throw these sorts of things in front of the prisoners,” Will added, smile slowly returning to his face. Chilton let his hand drop from his face.

Suddenly, the main lights went out, shrouding the small group in darkness. Just as quick, twinkling Christmas lights turned on and a 4ft tree lit up in multi-colored strings. A projector turned on, filling a wall in blue as it started up.

“Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Jack laughed, an odd sound coming from the normally surly man. Beverly immediately jumped onto the stage and into an  _ enthusiastic _ rendition of ‘Santa Baby’.

“Will,” Chilton whispered to the man, who was watching his friend somewhat drunkenly dance around her coworkers, “Mind if we step out for a moment?”

Will looked at him with slight confusion, but followed Chilton out and down the hallway, where one light flickered and the sounds of the party barely reached them, just some loud cheering as Beverly’s song ended. Chilton nervously shifted from foot to foot, almost missing his cane that he didn’t even need anymore.

“I got you a gift,” Chilton spoke slowly, scared. “It’s out in my car.”

Will half smiled, slight chuckle in his breathing, “I didn’t get you anything.”

Chilton, slight disappointment filling his heart, added, “That’s okay. I just saw it and — well, I saw it a while ago — and thought you’d like it.”

“Well,” Will said, opening his mouth to say more and closing it just as fast.

“Yes, well,” Chilton lightly snapped, “I’ll go get it.” Chilton left to his car, Will on his trail. They created simultaneous footprints in the snow, Chilton’s own barely faltered footsteps alongside Will’s more even but unsure. Chilton wanted nothing more than to perhaps just reach out and grab Will’s hand, create footsteps not so far apart. Chilton dismissed the thought, eyebrows furrowing as he unlocked his car. He reached into the backseat pulling out a long box, immaculately wrapped in silver, snowflake adorned wrapping paper.

“Here,” Chilton lamely shoved it into Will’s hands. Will tore into the paper, as if he was a child again — one that didn’t regularly enjoy the festivities of this holiday — and then ripped into the box. Inside, Chilton beamed at his impressive gift, an expensive fishing rod that he had extensively researched and then hunted down and carefully examined each one before making the purchase. “I read it was good for fly fishing.”

“An Orvis Helios 2,” Will examined, turning the rod over in his palms, “Impressive. I already have a rod though.”        

“Well,” Chilton forced a smile, “Something to add to the collection.”

Will looked at him, up and down, a curious glint in his eyes. Chilton’s eyes fell to the snow, in the corner of his eye he saw the price tag dangling, purposely left on to impress Will with the price, and the budget he allotted to Will’s gift. Will noticed the tag, but chose to ignore Chilton obviously trying to boast.

“Well, thank you,” Will finally said. Chilton only nodded, hands fidgeting in the cold. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Actually,” Chilton said right as Will started his steps back inside to the bureau, “I think I’m going to head out. Not really my scene.” On the inside, Chilton hoped Will would offer they drive to get a cup of coffee, escape to a place where it could just be the two of them.

Instead Will just nodded, saying goodnight and thanking Chilton for the gift once more and then disappeared back inside.  Chilton stood there, for a moment just braving the cold, before sliding into his car and driving off into the night.

Inside Will carried his expensive gift, possessively clinging to it. Eyes followed him around, noticing Chilton’s departure and in his place the obvious gift. He hugged it close to his body, itching to practice tying lures to it and sending out the fly to catch his next meal. Though, he’d have to wait on the latter being that it was the dead of Winter.               

“Nice, uh, rod,” Zeller snorted beside him, face red from the alcohol. Price hung off his arm, as if he was glued to the crime scene investigator.

“It was a gift,” Will replied.

Price picked up the dangling price tag, snorting in a tipsy manner, “An expensive one. Santa must have thought you were really good this year.”

Will just nodded, unaccustomed to such unwelcome attention. He still held the rod tight to his chest regardless.

\-----

Will ran his hands over the fishing rod, careful movements as the pad of his fingers traced the intricate bindings of the instrument. He, when his eyes were closed, could see himself wading into the river. The rocks would move beneath his boots, he’d turn one over with each step, rearranging the delicate system that he was allowed to be a part of. He’d jauntily throw out his line and wait patiently for something to be lured in, to snag at his life’s work.

Will opened his eyes, still in his living room. He shuddered, going to turn up the heat as he continued moving around his home in a constant state of near undress. He let the rod rest across the brown armchair, the same one Chilton cozied up in on some nights where he and Will would share repeated secrets. It stayed there, a constant. He thought of Chilton occupying that space too, a thought that came easier and easier every time he would call upon it. He shook his head, now was not the time for romanticizing loneliness and overpriced, unneeded acts of kindness. Will wasn’t a charity case, neither was Chilton. What they had, it was all based in charity. A charity, a poor excuse of a bandage to cover matching scars orchestrated by Hannibal. Will sighed, he was  _ not  _ a charity case.

It was Christmas Day, he was in Wolf Trap, Virginia. He was human, he was alive and he almost felt the need to pick up the phone and dial a suddenly all too familiar phone number.

\-----

Chilton, back in charge at the BSHCI, meandered around his office. He cruelly missed the days when Will was locked up here, just because then Chilton could bother him whenever he was lonely. It was too awkward, too on the nose of friendship to actually call up Will. Instead he’d just show up, with gifts or with food, anyway to trick and charm Will into liking him. They hadn’t talked since the Christmas party, a night filled with unsaid tension and horrible awkwardness from both ends.

Chilton sighed into his hands, dropping into his desk chair and spinning around to face the bookshelves. He just wanted to call Will, ring him up and see what he was up to. Instead, Chilton researched, embarrassed and in shame, ‘ _ fly fishing for dummies’ _ . He scribbled down notes, in case the day ever came he got to see that side of Will.

\-----

The snow was melting, revealing fresh spring grass, waiting its turn to bask in the morning sunlight. Will stared out the window, cup of coffee courtesy of Chilton in his left hand. It was his favorite time of the year, fishing season just around the corner. Outside, a bird flitted around singing its song. Will turned, back to the window, basking in the fireside warmth. Chilton — notoriously cold — had lit it the moment Will mentioned, in passing, dropping by the office for lunch. On the coffee table, between them now as Will situated in the chair across from Chilton, was a spread of gourmet meats, cheeses and fruits. Chilton placed a cloth napkin onto Will’s armrest, humming some flat tune to himself as he proceeded putting intricately carved silverware onto the glass coffee table. Will casually reached for a few slices of salami, scarfing them down.  

Chilton finally stilled, eyes flitting between the fire and watching Will’s mouth twist and warp around a handful of grapes.        

“Is this all there is for lunch?” Will asked, plucking another grape into his mouth.

“I have some smoked salmon in the fridge,” Chilton replied, gulping. “I’ll go get it.”

Will nodded, adding a small grunt of what Chilton both hoped and assumed was approval. Chilton opened his mouth briefly, as if to add something, but thought better and turned to grab the hunk of smoked delicacy. It was the most expensive he could find, wanting to impress Will yet again. He lowered it onto the wooden block he had set aside for the fish, his offering to Will, his sacrificial lamb slaughtered. Will’s eyes raked the fleshy delicacy, inspecting it. Gingerly he cut off a sliver — Chilton stood breathless, watching in uncertainty — layering it onto a brie coated cracker, before slowly setting it onto his tongue. Will swallowed it and Chilton dropped into his armchair, waiting for approval.

“This tastes like shit,” Will said, a hint of crumb falling from his lips. Chilton watched the piece fall to the ground, lost with other traces of Will’s visits, before snapping his eyes up.

“I,” Chilton started, mouth gaping. “I paid fifty-two dollars for that fish.”

Will chuckled, reaching for an apple slice. “Well, you might want a refund.” He bit off the tip of his apple slice, eyes shutting as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s too salty, but not in a natural way that fish should be. They tried too much to cover up the taste of life, to hide this fish’s story.”

Chilton nodded, blushing slightly in embarrassment. Embarrassed he didn’t know his fish, didn’t know how to win Will. Will was this untouchable prize at the carnival, a heavily guarded piece of art in the Met, something Chilton could never own unless he was the highest bidder. But he could not bid when he didn’t know what price point the auction started. He was floundering, sinking into the mud as he continued aimlessly tossing rings into the darkness, hoping to snag one onto a bottle.

“Try it,” Will added, his arm outstretched. His fingers shoved a thin slice of salmon into Chilton’s own nervous hand. “See for yourself.”

Chilton grabbed the fish from Will’s hand, swallowing it down while maintaining eye contact with Will. Until it was too much, until Chilton gulped around the salty flesh, and Will looked away.

“You’re right,” Chilton said, breathing slow. “To a degree.”

Will smiled at that, wiping his hands on the wine colored cloth napkins Chilton provided. “We’ll have to sharpen that palette of yours.”

Chilton smiled awkwardly, filling his mouth with grapes and cheese before he could make more of a fool of himself. He listened to Will’s breathing and chewing, memorizing the way his jaw moved as his teeth punctured the fragile walls of fruit after fruit. Chilton sighed, mesmerized by the subtle movements as Will’s sweaty palms moved up and down his navy pants while he watched the fire between himself and Chilton. Will, once or twice, looked over to where Chilton watched him. Watched him as if Will was a house emerging from the fog, the last chance at survival. It was like how Hannibal used to look at him, Will mused, but different. Less predatory, more unsure. Hannibal knew Will would be pliant in his hands he didn’t have to try and convince Will. Chilton looked doubtful, Will had more of a sturdy grip this time, an even balance between the two. It comforted Will, it made him feel almost peaceful. Inside of him the darkness that Hannibal kissed into his body was slowly receding, kicked away as Will walked further and further from the bonds of Hannibal. As he walked into the bonds of Chilton.

Will caught Chilton’s lingering gaze. It was as time stood frozen, the crackling of the wood fire the only noise in the room as the two stared into each other. Searching for answers and hidden motives. Chilton slowly smiled, his lips upturned. Will looked back into the fire, both of them too guarded to let each other fully in.

\-----

Chilton’s cell buzzed on the wooden nightstand next to him. An angry humming, willing away his sleep. He blindly reached for the device, carelessly answering without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?” He slurred into his phone, rubbing at his tired eyes. He threw off his charcoal colored silk comforter, sliding his cold feet into his alpaca slippers.

“Next weekend,” the voice on the other line — Will — started without introduction, “I’m taking you fishing.”

Chilton smiled, rubbing his hand in mindless strokes against his bullet wound. “I can’t wait.” He yawned quietly into his hand. “What should I bring?” But the line had already disconnected and Will had hung up. Chilton begrudgingly put down his phone, a small pool of warmth in his heart at the prospect of Will finally taking him out on the lake, or the river. Wherever one fished.        

He stood, stretching out his arms and letting out another deep yawn, before heading to the bathroom to begin his routine. He turned the water on in the shower, the rain head letting water fall onto the tiled floor, steam already touching the glass. He stripped out of his silk pajamas, hanging them neatly on the silver hook. Chilton made sure on his way into the shower to avoid looking at himself in the mirror, unhappy with the figure that was his reflection.

The water fell onto him, washing him clean. Water drizzled down from his hair onto his face. He closed his eyes, rubbing the water into his unshaved skin. His fingers felt and prodded his gaping jaw, how his skin sagged, pooling under his eye. He sighed, running his other hand against the long scar going up his stomach from Abel Gideon. He somehow felt emptier, something he didn’t think would happen. He never paid mind to his organs before, he just knew they were there —  _ inside  _ him. How odd it was now to be aware he was missing some part of himself, how much of a difference a kidney made. The water continued drizzling down his back, but it could not wash away his sorrows.

He grabbed his shampoo lathering it into his hair, the subtle basil scent comforting him as he bit back dry sobs. But, he thought as his fingers gently rubbed into his scalp, there was no one left to impress, he was not putting on a show for anyone at the moment. He could let himself go, his skin sagged and he was scarred and no one could see him. He dropped his hands from his head, the suds running down the back of his neck. He was alone. He sank down onto the tile, tears threatening to spill out of him.

How could Will stand him, stand his body if Chilton himself could not stand his reflection. His most haunting moments were when he had to stare himself down in his mirror as he scrubbed the makeup off of him, as he carefully removed the contact lens from his left eye and revealed its cloudy nature, as he took out the prosthetic that kept his jaw in place. How could Will stand to see that? How would Will understand if Chilton chose to express his feelings if every time he took the prosthetic out and his mouth mumbled words, incoherent and childish whimpers.  How could Will ever stand to see him like this, with his jagged knife wound and angry red spot on his face. Where else would Will look if not to Chilton’s imperfections?

Chilton sobbed into his hands, the tears still running down his face mixing with the shower water. He was an imposter. He was an actor. He was unworthy of Will’s love, of Will’s touch. He would never feel Will’s rough, weathered hands run down his spine. Never feel those chapped lips upon his own, because he was undeserving. He was ugly, he was marred and filled with bitterness. Will, still scarred and beaten was still a man deserving of someone better, maybe he should even be gallivanting around Europe with Hannibal. It was more fitting than bearing the ugliness that shone out of Chilton’s every pore.

He stood, legs shaky and hair matted to his forehead. He was numb but he was still alive, Hannibal did not take that from him yet. Abel Gideon did not rip Chilton’s life as he ripped his skin, and Miriam Lass did not shoot out his last breath. He survived. He would continue on until he became something molded into the shape of what Will Graham could one day like. Chilton continued to try and scrub away every last ounce of ugliness he felt that morning, like every other morning before him.

After stepping out of the cooling water, Chilton wrapped himself into a fluffy maroon towel drying himself off and changing into a thin, blood red cashmere sweater and wool slacks. He rubbed lotion into his skin, avoiding gazing too long at himself in the mirror. Chilton carefully popped in his prosthetic teeth, watching from his right eye as his face regained a normal, natural state. Next, he placed his color lens onto his left eye, tricking himself into thinking it was still useful to him. He hurried through his morning routine, itching to leave the bathroom, and brushed his teeth in a hurry, gelled his hair back in a frenzy and lastly, sponging down his concealer onto his cheek. He blended in careful pats until only a tiny red spot, no different than a birthmark, was left on his face. He pretended to be satisfied with his appearance as he shut off the lights, leaving the bathroom.

Soft footsteps echoed behind Chilton as he went downstairs, his sterile and white living room barely bathed in a soft yellow as the sun rose. His gray Selkirk Rex, Francis, was dozing in a patch of sunlight. Chilton clumsily bent down, still getting used to not using a cane, and ran a hand through her curly fur.

“It’s breakfast time my love,” He whispered, scratching between her ears as she awoke and gave a tired meow. Chilton got back up, heading to the kitchen to refill her bowl as she pranced up to his leg, rubbing against it and meowing once again louder. He smiled, setting her bowl down. Chilton began on his own breakfast, whipping together an omelet with spinach and some feta cheese. Truthfully, he had only recently learned to cook in hopes to impress Will, wanting to fill the empty slot Hannibal had left behind — albeit less human in the diet.

That was Chilton’s only vision these past few years, to be Will’s. To be Hannibal’s replacement, whatever it took for Will to want him. He would go fishing, he would play the role in hopes that Will would hand over the award. Hand over his heart on a shiny silver platter ready for Chilton to demolish, to tear it to pieces until veins and tissue were stuck to his every last tooth. Because, after all, that’s what Chilton was doing for Will. Chilton was ripped apart, shot and maimed just to be Will’s. It was an endless track but Chilton kept running, hoping to eventually catch up with Will.

Chilton stabbed at his omelet, bringing the fork to his mouth and setting the food onto his tongue. He relished in the taste, the flavor — all the while pretending he was tasting Will Graham’s eventual love for him.

\----- 

Chilton took in his surroundings as Will unpacked their gear. His eyes flitted over the freshly green leaves, overhead birds sing their songs and communicated. Underneath him was soggy ground, mud squelching with every step he took in his rubber rain boots. Chilton shuddered as he watched a worm lamely move around, an internal timer ticking down how long it would be until a bird came and feasted upon it. The steady sound of the river filled Chilton’s ears, growing louder and louder as he became more miserable, more unaware of his surroundings. His hands wrapped his borrowed olive-green rain jacket around him tighter, until his nose was behind the zipper and he was inhaling stale scents of Will’s aftershave. A bug landed on Chilton’s cheek but flew away just as quick, leaving Chilton to dumbly swat at himself.

Will chuckled lightly behind Chilton, “Nature won’t kill you.”

“I’ve survived much worse,” Chilton replied haughtily, his hand massaging lightly over his cheek where a slight sting had made itself present. He could still feel the ghost of the bug’s touch. Will gave him a lopsided smile, untangling fishing lines and swatting bugs away from his own face. Chilton watched on, turning away from the babbling and gushing of the river to focus on the practiced movements of Will’s hands. Chilton moved, slow and careful steps towards Will, feeling useless amongst all the foliage and greenery. He kept his eyes focused on Will, tethering him to a life outside of slippery rocks and fish eggs lurking beneath the pebbles and discarded twigs — all things not likely to harm and injure Chilton but likely still plotting his embarrassment.

Chilton felt heavy and unnatural in his brand new gear, large overalls covering his frame and bunching where they met his boots. He sat on a large rock next to Will, feeling completely lost and useless as his hands numbly played with the sleeves of his borrowed flannel from Will. He was avoiding staring too much at Will, in his brown baseball cap shielding his eyes from the sun and Chilton’s gaze and his snug, navy long sleeve protecting from bugs biting into his flesh.

“Help me attach the lures?” Will looked up at Chilton, eyes barely squinting. Chilton swallowed, nodding silently as he extended his reach to meet Will’s hand. Will lowered the feathered hook into Chilton’s open palm, his fingers barely brushing against Chilton’s own trembling ones. On Chilton’s palm laid a jig with intricately weaved brown and red feathers attached to a hidden hook, Chilton looked into Will’s eyes for guidance, feeling like he was a fish out of water dragged to the surface by the hook he held.

“First, we need to feed the line into the rod,” Will said, his hands quickly maneuvering the near invisible wire into the mount of his rod. It was the one that Chilton had gifted him months ago and Chilton had to hide a smile to see Will using it. Chilton continued to watch Will’s handiwork, unsure of how he was to begin. In his hand he still held the jig and the wire, confusion on his face.

“Here,” Will began, handing Chilton Will’s old fishing rod, “Let me help you, it’s tricky if you’re not practiced.” Will moved, sitting on the rock next to Chilton, their thighs pressed together. Despite the heavy layers they both were wearing, Chilton could feel the warmth emanating from Will. He guided Chilton’s hands, his own rough ones clamping down onto Chilton’s sweaty ones. Chilton held the wire between his fingers as Will moved his hand more for him, leading it to the rod.

“Put the wire through here.” Chilton began moving the wire further into the mount until the translucent line was poking out the other end.

“What you’re going to want to do next,” Will continued, still pressed against Chilton, “is take the jig and tie it to the line. Make multiple small, tight knots.” Will demonstrated, taking the near invisible line and his own lure mending the two together, going in and out around the hook and tightening the knots. Chilton began on his own, in smaller more unsure movements. He held the hook in a tight grasp as he brought the line to it, going through then back around until he had made five knots. Will reached over and cut off the excess with his pocket knife. He pulled a few times on Chilton’s jig, testing its strength.

Will looked over at Chilton, crooked smile on his face, “Not too bad for a beginner.”

Will handed Chilton a small bottle from his bag, “Rub this into the feathers, it’ll attract more fish.” Chilton tapped the bottle onto his palm, massaging the strongly scented oil onto the feathers, his nose wrinkling from the repulsive stench. He handed the bottle back to Will then wiped his now even oilier hands onto his waders.

“Did you bring Abigail out here ever?” Chilton asked, slight strain in his voice as he looked at Will’s face tense up. Will’s fingers tensed around his rod, clenching his teeth.

“A few times in my mind,” Will responded, fingers tensing around his rod and clenching his teeth.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Chilton continued despite his better judgement, he had a penchant for ruining things in his life. “I never told you that.”

“It had to happen,” Will said. “It was the only way it would work.”

Chilton looked up at Will but not continuing to speak. He knew what Will was referencing and why he was more or less at peace with the death of someone so close to him. Abigail’s death was inevitable for Hannibal (and at the time, Chilton thought, Will) to escape. For them to both run away. Chilton couldn’t help but feel a swelling jealousy as he thought of the two in their previous life. He would always come second to Will, he would always be Hannibal’s replacement.

Will stood, a physical sign of him ending the conversation about Abigail. He grabbed his fishing rod, shiny and unused since Christmas, and turned to the river before them. Chilton stood, grabbing his own rod much more battered and weathered from years of Will’s use, waiting for Will’s further instruction. Will moved his cap, adjusting it as he looked at Chilton, before wading out into the water. He took sure and steady steps as he moved further into the middle. He cocked his head, looking back at Chilton to join him. Chilton took a deep breath before taking his first step into the gushing water. He turned over pebbles and stones with his clunky steps, watching small minnows and tadpoles swim away from him. Will extended a hand to steady Chilton as he struggled to find his balance amidst the river. Chilton reached back, grabbing onto his arm instead of Will’s hand, feeling too awkward to make the full move.

“Now, watch how I do it and then try it for yourself,” Will said, gripping his rod and getting into stance. Will moved a bit farther out, distancing himself from Chilton. He began sweeping the wire through the water, his eyes following the movements before lifting the rest of the line with the rod up into the air. He cast the line out, effortless strength as it flew through the air and landed farther down the river. Chilton saw where the jig hit the water, bobbing in the current as it began its work.

“I think I understand,” Chilton said, moving into his own stance.

“Get a good grip on the handle,” Will said, watching Chilton.

Chilton pressed his fingers onto the handle, gripping it tighter than he felt was necessary. He began sweeping it in the water like Will had.

“And when you’re ready,” Will continued, “just cast it.”

Chilton nodded, sweeping it a few more times then lifting the rod up and throwing it before him. His eyes watched the line and jig travel farther down the river before landing in the water, beginning to bob near Will’s own jig.

“See, not that hard,” Will said, smile forming on his face as he moved closer to Chilton and clapping him on the back. Chilton would’ve felt patronized if he wasn’t missing the brief touch from Will instead, relishing in the small amount of warmth from Will’s hand, sending shivers down Chilton’s spine. Chilton smiled at Will, basking in the warmth of his fleeting touch and the moment’s praise. Will returned his smile before looking back out onto the coursing water.

Chilton kept his grip tight on the fishing rod, taking in his surroundings. Disdain was his first, instinctual reaction to the outdoors and the tadpoles moving around his boots, but on a second glance he began to somewhat appreciate the beauty surrounding him and Will. The sun filtered through the greenery on both sides of them, trees standing tall and stretching outwards to the sky. Above them thin white clouds drifted across expanses of blue. Chilton’s eyes shifted from the birds flying back to their nest to Will’s profile. Chilton allowed himself a moment to admire Will — the stubble across his strong jaw, the refined slope of his nose, his saddened eyes and the dark circles that marred his skin. Will’s hair, longer now and in need of a cut, curling around the nape of his neck almost tickling the collar of his vest. Will slowly began to turn his head, tempting to meet Chilton’s lingering gaze, but Chilton whipped his head back to look out to his bobbing jig.

“How long until we catch something?” Chilton asked, avoiding Will’s eyes. Under his red flannel Chilton felt his skin prickling, as if he was caught in some perverse act instead of looking at his friend. Perhaps, Chilton thought, it  _ was  _ perverse for he and Will were nothing close to friends. They may be acting under the guise of friendship but they were simply both just lonely and Chilton was becoming obsessed with the lingering touches and the erratic lunch meetings. Chilton knew Will was just using him as a distraction until Hannibal’s likely return or until he broke down and flew out to meet Hannibal. Chilton gripped the handle tighter, knuckles chafing in the picking up wind and whitening from the pressure of his grasp.

“We don’t catch,” Will replied, “We lure. It’s the fish’s decision to be caught, not ours.”

Chilton continued looking at Will, his grip still tight on his fishing rod. He thought that he didn’t have a choice when it came to being caught by Will, it was inevitable. It was match for match the same inevitable way Will was once caught, and continued to be caught by Hannibal. Will never once lured him, he never went out of his way to ensure that Chilton came sniffing for him, that he came swimming up the river only to get caught on Will’s hook. It was the withholding, Chilton guessed, that brought him to Will. That kept him yearning for Will’s attention. Chilton was the sick dog that Will watched, as he circled him assessing his damage with his finger on the trigger. Chilton was waiting to be put out of his misery. He did not choose to be caught but he chose to be hunted. But Will wasn’t a hunter, he was a fisherman. Chilton was losing the game that he designed, that he begun. He was losing the game and Will wasn’t even aware he was playing it.

“How long until the fish plans on catching itself?” Chilton asked, looking back out downstream.

Will laughed, not malicious or at Chilton’s expense. He genuinely laughed, replying “Patience has never been one of your strengths.”

“And I’m nothing if not consistent.”

Will looked over to him and for once Chilton returned the look, twin smiles on their faces as they looked into the other's eyes. Chilton was waiting, breath shallow and hands sweaty, until Will would break it off. They were daring each other to acknowledge the prolonged stare, each too proud and embarrassed to be the first one to break it off.

Suddenly, there was a tug on Chilton’s line. He looked at the rapidly bobbing lure, small splashes forming around it.

“Will,” Chilton half-shouted, “What do I do now?”

“Hold on,” Will replied, moving closer to the shore and setting down his own fishing rod. He planted it into the rocks and gray sand before moving back to Chilton. Chilton kept his grip tight as the hooked fish kept tugging, wanting its freedom back.

Will moved to Chilton’s side, “Keep the grip firm and tight.” Chilton tightened his grip. “Now, pull back, bring it to you.”

Chilton tugged at the rod, barely inching the fish towards him.

“You’ve got yourself a fighter,” Will snickered, his feet still planted by Chilton’s side.

“I thought,” Chilton tugged more on his line, “they wanted to be caught. That it was  _ their  _ decision.”

“It still takes convincing,” Will turned to Chilton, “Anything worthwhile does.”

Chilton huffed and rolled his eyes, still tugging on the line. At the moment he didn’t want to unpack and sift through interpretations of Will’s choice of words or the pointed look he seemed to give Chilton or the close proximity of their stances. He wanted to catch the fish, damned if it was the fish’s decision or not. He wanted to prove his worth, that he could be worthwhile to Will.

“Here,” Will said, moving his arms to encompass Chilton’s own, “let me help.”

Will’s right hand cradled Chilton’s own on the handle, his other moving and clutching onto Chilton’s elbow. Chilton continued staring at the bobbing jig, ignoring the overwhelming feeling of Will’s body pressed into his own. They both began tugging on the rod, pulling it back with their combined strength. Chilton watched as the fish moved closer to them, his neck prickling as Will’s hair barely brushed against him. They continued pulling, silence enveloping them as they simultaneously ignored the heat between them, the unnecessary press of Will’s thumb into the softness of Chilton’s arm. Chilton’s hand sped up the cranking, pulling the line and fish towards them.

“One last tug,” Will said softly, letting go of Chilton and taking a half step back. Chilton continued cranking and tugging, the fish now struggling in the air. Chilton watched his trophy squirm, wanting and wishing to be back in the water as it dried out.

Will waded to where the fish was slowing its movements, mouth open and hook pushing through its skin. Will grabbed it, holding the fishing line in place as he yanked the hook out of the bass’s mouth. Will let go of the line, letting it flow in the wind. Chilton took a few steps forward, unsure of what was to come next.

“Frederick,” Will held up the bass, his finger replacing the hook, “You just caught your first fish.”

Chilton smiled, cringing internally as he looked at its gasping around Will’s hand. Will met Chilton’s eyes, a wide and giddy smile on his face and pride in his eyes. Chilton’s smile grew larger as he felt the surge of pride from his first catch, from the fact that Will was impressed with him.

Will began moving to the shore, Chilton following him. He set down his fishing rod next to Will’s, settling it into the sand. Will reached into his bag producing a small screwdriver.

“Want to do the honors?” Will handed Chilton the screwdriver, “He is your catch after all.”

Chilton nodded, unsure of what the honors implied. He clutched the screwdriver in his hand, awaiting his next instruction.

“Okay, so you’re going to want to take that screwdriver and jab it into the fish’s brain.” Will lowered the fish onto the boulder Chilton had been sitting on earlier in the day. “Right between the eyes then move the screwdriver back and forth in a neat line, scrambling its brains.”

Chilton swallowed and nodded, moving the screwdriver to the center of the fish’s face. Its eyes met Chilton’s it seemed, as if pleading to be released and not killed. Chilton grasped the fish, pinning it down onto the boulder and jammed the screwdriver in between its eyes. It was messier than Will told him to be but Chilton continued on, moving the screwdriver hastily back and forth. Small specks of pink flesh flew onto Chilton’s bare hands, which would have grossed him out if he was not so intent on finishing off the fish. He pulled back the screwdriver, hand still pinning it down onto the boulder despite it no longer putting up a fight.

“Now what?” Chilton asked, eyes looking at the flesh on his own flesh. It was similar in color, he noted, the pinkness of the fish brain blending almost perfectly into the pinkness of Chilton’s hands.

“We bleed it out,” Will answered, trading the screwdriver in Chilton’s hand for a sharp knife procured from his vest’s pocket. “Cut the gills off and just let it bleed for a few minutes, then we can put it in the cooler and go back in the water.”

Chilton nodded again, gripping the knife’s blue handle and began sawing at the bass’s gills. Red began trickling onto Chilton’s fingers but he kept sawing, until the flaky gills were off and in his hand. More blood seeped onto his fingers but he felt frozen in place, unable to move away from his kill. Will interrupted Chilton’s trance, grabbing the fish off the rock and moving it into the ice filled cooler. Chilton watched the fish be dragged off to its morgue before looking back at the drying blood on the boulder. He wasn’t eager to sit there anymore knowing what just took place, knowing what he did. He looked at his blood-soaked hands, both shock and pride swelling inside of him.

Will handed him a towel, “A little messy but pretty good for your first time.”

“You know I used to be a surgeon, right?” Chilton asked, wiping his hands off on the towel but there was still red on his fingers. It caked under his fingernails, mixing with the dirt and dust.

“I thought you killed a patient?” Will replied. Chilton’s head whipped up, mouth already twisting in anger before he saw the smile on Will’s face and the glint in his eyes peeking out from beneath the cap.

“A patient died on my watch,” Chilton responded, “I didn’t kill them.”

“Is that why you went into psychiatry?”

“Guilt, you mean?” Chilton looked at his hands. “Blood on my hands?”

“Hey, you said it. Not me.”

Chilton looked at Will, wanting to defend himself but nothing came to mind. Will was right, he couldn’t accept the responsibility and he was messy and arrogant. He let a patient die on his watch because he was too stubborn to ask someone more experienced for help, so he fled. Now he stood there, literal blood on his hands and reminded of his mistakes.

Will grabbed his own fishing rod, wading back into the water. He reached the middle of the river and cast his line, waiting for his own prey to be caught. Will looked back at the shore where Chilton still stood, cocked his head and silently asked if Chilton was going to join him. Chilton grabbed his own rod and placed a new jig on the end, following the process closely like he had earlier. He waded into the water and cast his line.

Chilton kept his mouth shut and his jaw tight as he watched the lure bob in the water, as if the last twenty minutes had not just happened. Silence ebbed between the two as they both focused on the task at hand. Five feet away, Will sighed, his eyes still trained on his own brightly colored jig.

“Frederick,” Will called out, vision still fixed on the water. “I never thanked you for visiting me in the hospital.”

Chilton hummed, “I didn’t think you would. You weren’t exactly thrilled.”

“Yeah, well,” Will nervously laughed.

“Why are you thanking me now?”

“Figured enough time had passed,” Will responded. “Enough has happened between us to forgo the betrayal I felt at your initial visit.”

“Betrayal?” Chilton asked, “From Hannibal?”

“No,” Will laughed, shaking his head. “When you first walked in, I thought you were Abigail.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

“You weren’t the one that let me down.”

Chilton nodded in response, unsure of how to continue.

“Still thinking this is an opportunity?” Will asked.

“Opportunity?” Chilton asked puzzled, before shaking his head. “Oh, no. Enough has passed between us to forgo the act I had initially.” Chilton looked at Will, small smirk on his face as he met Will’s eyes.

“Act?” This time it was Will’s turn to be confused.

“I meant what I said about you needing a friend. Although, I acted like I wasn’t looking for the same thing.”

“Friend,” Will said the word as if it was a foreign language, as if he couldn’t fathom the idea of being Chilton’s friend.

“Friend.” The word tasted odd in Chilton’s own mouth, as if he was speaking around a rock, as if something was blocking its path. They continued staring out into the water, avoiding a deeper conversation of what lurked under the surface of their friendship. The bitter, twisted feelings of survival, of being spared. Hannibal meant to keep Will alive, Chilton’s was a sloppy accident. It was a second thought since Hannibal had not pointed the gun at his face, didn’t have his finger on the trigger. Chilton couldn't help but feel mad at Miriam Lass, she had put a hole through his face and permanently altered his appearance but he, now almost two years later, understood. Hannibal was in her mind, she looked at Chilton’s face and thought he was responsible for hacking off her limb.

“You know, Will,” Chilton began, wanting to rid himself of the sad thoughts filling his mind. “We still have matching scars.”

“I’m aware,” Will responded not looking at Chilton. Chilton just nodded settling lamely back into the silence and keeping his mouth shut. His tongue brushed against the metal of his dentures, an action he trained himself not to do often. He gave into the small temptation, his tongue moving throughout his mouth and feeling the inside of his cheek. He was still himself, he mused as his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, despite being flawed.

“Do you miss him?” Chilton asked, tongue still moving over his dentures and relishing in the familiar metallic taste.

“Who? Hannibal?”

“Yes.”

“Not so much anymore,” Will replied, eyes drifting over to Chilton’s profile. “I think I miss more the consistency of having him in my life. It felt purposeful, even when he was cutting me open and ripping everything good from my life. I couldn’t help but feel,” Will paused, “thankful.”

Chilton nodded, although Hannibal had inflicted deep wounds upon him he never had the emotional pain and turmoil of being Hannibal’s friend. He was only invested in the story.

“I’m beginning a book on him,” Chilton continued. “Or, at least playing with the idea of it.”

“I thought that was more Freddie’s job?” Will bitterly laughed.

“Yes,” Chilton gave a small laugh, “but I beat her and trademarked ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ first.”

“How long did you wait before making your move?”

“Started writing when you first came to my hospital, trademarked the name when I got shot.”

“I guess that my incarceration will be a chapter or two,” Will said. “Can’t wait to read what you have to say on the matter.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Chilton responded, his palms still sweaty on the rod. He thought he had felt a tug but it was just the current.

“Then it would be a lie.”

“I suppose so.”

Will sighed, “Jack’s been hounding me to try and find him.”

“Do you want to?” Chilton asked, “I know you said you didn’t miss him but...do you still yearn for his attention?”

Will let out a startling laugh, half crazed as his head shook and his sudden movements tugged his line through the water.

“There will always be an ache of what could’ve been,” Will replied with shaky breaths, “I yearn for the lie I believed, I yearn to have Abigail alive. I do not yearn for Hannibal, I yearn for what he stood for.”

Chilton nodded, his breathing halted. He could not stand for what Hannibal stood for, he would always come in second. But, as he looked to Will once more for a fleeting second, a chance to be in Will’s life instead of Hannibal might be worth coming in second.

“I told Jack no.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Chilton responded, trying to steady his breathing.

“I think I found something new to yearn for,” Will added, calmness seeping back into his voice. The wind blew around the two as they stood in the water avoiding whatever each one was still causing constant aches for them. They found ways to dull the pain, to numb themselves as the wind numbed their fingertips and turned their ears pink.

“It’s good to find new things in life to want,” Chilton mused, “to find something to keep us inspired.”

“What inspires you Frederick?” Will asked, “What do you yearn for?”

“Distraction,” Chilton replied. He looked over at Will to find him smiling as if Chilton’s answer was amusing. It was not a full lie, Chilton found distraction in the way that Will moved around him. Distraction in the small press of his fingers in his side as Will slid behind Chilton in Will’s kitchen as they drank wine and ignored the way they would never be the same. Ignored that they were spared. Will was his distraction and he yearned for him. Will inspired him as well, to better himself for Will if nothing else.  

Suddenly, Will began furiously tugging on his own line, reeling the jig closer to him. Chilton turned his body towards Will, watching him spin the reel faster and faster until another fish was flopping in the air, gasping around a hook.

“Grab the screwdriver, will you?” Will asked, moving towards the shore. Chilton nodded, reeling in his own empty jig and settling the fishing rod in the sand once more. He reached into Will’s bag where the screwdriver sat, caked in flaky maroon specks. He handed it to Will who immediately drove the screwdriver between the fish’s eyes and scrambled its brain. He did it much more precise and faster than Chilton had, making less of a mess. He was far more experienced but he also clearly cared for the creatures that he lured. Chilton wondered if Will cared enough about him to be neat and precise, or if he would make a mess out of Chilton, leave him floundering and feeling the ache of another hole in his head.

“Knife?” Will asked, moving the fish off of the hook and onto the stone.

Chilton handed him the knife from before, attentively watching as Will began slowly sawing off the gills. Will’s hand pinned down the fish’s head, blood already starting to seep onto Will’s fingertips. Chilton watched, unable to move his line of sight from Will’s hands, his breath settling in the back of his throat. He was frozen, completely enraptured by the gentle act of violence. The casual taking of a life. It came so easy to Will, so practiced and refined. Chilton remembered, could still smell the faint reminiscent of the fish’s flesh, the pungent smell of its body. Will didn’t even flinch as blood caked under his fingernails, didn’t think twice about his next movements. His nose didn’t even twitch as it was assaulted by the overwhelming smell of blood and raw fish. Chilton was impressed and he wondered if he possibly would ever get to be as good as Will, if Will would allow him the opportunity to keep learning from his trained hands. Chilton could get used to nature if Will was constantly there, distracting him from the ugliness.

“Should we try to catch a few more?” Will wiped his hands on his pants, streaks of blood mixing into the olive waders. “Or,” he checked his watch, “you getting hungry?”

Chilton swallowed, he was constantly hungry. Constantly craving. If he agreed to eat now time with Will would be cut short, the day closing in on them already. But, he could see Will’s face soften as embers and amber flames colored his cheeks. They’d been out for a few hours already, Chilton thought, how much more luck would they really have?

“Yes,” Chilton responded, “we can start cooking. Unless you want to continue fishing?” Chilton motioned to the coursing river, the yellow setting sun in the background lighting the green trees more golden.

“No,” Will responded, his mouth twisting around the word to create a perplexing, foreign ‘naw’, “let’s start filleting the fish and then we can grill it. You mind eating out here? I have bug spray for the mosquitos.”

“I don’t mind.” Chilton did mind, he didn’t like the idea of being subjected to more bloodsuckers but the idea of spending more time with Will overrode his disdain for the winged creatures. “How do we prepare the fish?”

“We have to be careful, can’t be too messy,” Will explained as he reached for the knife and a water bottle to clean off the fish more. “We got to peel back from the head down to the tail. Normally, if time allowed, we’d also debone it but we’ll just eat around them.”

Will doused the fish he had just killed in water, rubbing it into the scales before swiftly cutting through the head and moved it to a wooden block, to get a more even surface. He started moving the knife farther down, going under its skin. Chilton watched as Will moved the knife slowly and carefully through the fish. He was flaying its carcass, letting the fish know its place in the world. But the fish, Chilton mused as his eyes traveled up Will’s arms, was willingly submitting to Will. He was aware of the offering he presented to Will and Chilton, how significant his life was if he gave it up. Will had lured it, made it feel safe and fed only to grab it and lay it on the stone and chop off its head. The drying blood, along with many past offerings, was just another meaningless moment in the grand scheme of life. Chilton realized, as Will tenderly removed the knife from the fish, that he too was just another minor role in Will’s life.

He thought, stomach lurching as he watched the skin being pulled back to allow Will total access to its everything, that he was not sacrificing enough. He gave no more than a fish. Chilton was utterly useless to Will, he could not feed Will or provide any sort of security. He was a liability, something Will already had plenty of. But, god, Chilton would die a thousand times over just to be stored in Will’s closet of useless belongings. To be stored, collecting dust, in his metaphorical junk drawer. He would rot as Will thrived, that was his purpose in Will’s life.

Chilton saw it clearly, as Will mumbled words and explanations for the carving and decapitation of the life under his rough hands. Chilton saw himself in the place of the fish, laid down on the wooden block and submitting to Will’s every carnal desire. He could almost feel the knife digging through his flesh, all too familiar but all so different to Abel’s own incisions. Because this time Chilton wanted it. He wanted Will to mark his flesh permanently, to always have the memory of Will marking him as his own. He would be owned by Will, and he would enjoy it. His hands would travel for years along the scar no longer in hate but in joy, for he would know who had made that new mark. Chilton wanted to be Will’s lamb.

Will would be so glad, Chilton would have purpose. Chilton — still willingly laying on the wooden block — would meet Will’s eyes and Will would mutter into Chilton’s ear how Chilton finally learned his place. Unlike the fish, Will would not be gentle as he carved through Chilton’s body. He would punish Chilton, for that was what Chilton deserved. He finally would learn his place as the knife sunk deeper into his flesh and as his blood poured, soaking Will’s hands. Will would keep him alive as he ripped open Chilton’s stomach and used his blood soaked, bare hands to feed on Chilton’s insides. To take all of Chilton, because all of Chilton was what Will needed. Chilton would lie there soundless and in glee as he watched the man he loved, only able to admit it on his theoretical death bed, tear into his organs and feast upon everything Chilton had to offer. Chilton, in his mind, smiled as his fingers wrapped themselves instinctually around Will’s curls. The movement was practiced, as if he had done it before in real time and not just when he imagined his death by Will’s hands. Chilton smiled for real, as he came back from the vision, and watched as Will — so delicate, so gentle — set aside the first fish and grabbed the other.

“Want to try?” Will asked, curiosity in his eyes as his hand rested upon the slimy creature. Chilton met his eyes, breath so foreign as he reigned in his masochistic fantasy.

“Yeah, yes.” Chilton nervously laughed, “Yes, I’d like to try.”

Will moved to the side as to let Chilton slide into place, Will’s hand still holding down the fish Chilton had caught. Will placed the knife in Chilton’s hand, Chilton’s fingers curling around the handle.

“Cut off the head, just like I did,” Will instructed, taking a half step back and releasing the creature to Chilton. Chilton placed his hand over the fish where the gills had once been. He raised the knife, taking in a breath before messily whacking off the head. Chilton looked into the eyes of the fish, seeing his reflection in them before looking at where the spine and neck bones now dangled centimeters off the chopping block.

“Now,” Will continued, “Start cutting down to the tail, then you can peel back the skin.”

Chilton nodded, messily sawing the skin quickly. He knew he was doing a bad job but he couldn’t stop, his hands moving in a frenzy and cutting through the dried-out scales.

“Slower,” Will interjected, placing his hand over Chilton’s. “You’re not punishing the fish Frederick, you must respect it.”

Will’s hand remained on top of Chilton’s own, weaving his fingers between Chilton’s to grip the blade of the knife. He began moving their hands and the knife slowly through the skin of the fish down to its tail -- gentle see-saw motions, up then down in a repeated motion. Chilton’s eyes briefly glanced over Will’s face, a lot closer than before, and drinking in the concentration in his stare, the tiny beads of sweat cooling at the ends of his bangs and drying on his forehead. Chilton looked back at the fish, where the knife still pierced its body but had stopped moving.

“Now,” Will said, almost completely pressed against Chilton’s side and hot breaths dancing on Chilton’s cheek, “take the skin and just peel it back.”

Chilton’s left hand took the skin, grasping it between his thumb and forefingers. He began pulling it back exposing it to the world, just as Will had done to the last one. Behind the gray-green skin was a lump of pink flesh, bare and naked to the world. Chilton’s fingertips let go of the skin and felt over the flesh, it was cold and had a subtle sliminess to it. He had killed this fish, this meat was his now.

“Good,” Will said, removing his hand from Chilton’s. Chilton ached for the touch again, still staring at the fish below him. “I’ll start the fire.”

Will moved towards the center of their small clearing where a dirty fire pit sat unnoticed. He began clearing out the leaves before he stacked wood from the back of his car and began piling twigs around it. Chilton watched as Will lit a fire starter, his hand strong and sturdy on the lighter. The orange flames began moving, dancing to their own rhythm as they grew and took on their own shape. The sky, Chilton noted as he looked away from the flames and the fish, was turning a darker blue, golden yellow still tinging the horizon. Above him stars were starting to make their appearance for the night, a fingernail moon taking center stage.

“Help me cook?” Will asked, once again bringing Chilton back into reality. He stood by the open trunk of the car sorting through his bag. Chilton silently nodded, sliding into place next to Will. It felt all too natural, all too easy to regain such close proximity to Will. As if he belonged sewn into his side, never to leave or have a life of his own. Chilton looked at Will, dusk encompassing them like a fog quicker and quicker, and thought that he would be okay making Will his life – he was already rapidly becoming his life whether Chilton wanted it or not.

“What should I do?” Chilton asked, looking at his hands. They were still faintly tinged with red and he wondered how long it would take him to get this round of blood off his hands, if it ever got faster or easier.

“Just rub in some olive oil then pepper it,” Will instructed, “I’m going to get the grill ready.”

Chilton grabbed tin foil, spreading a piece flat in the trunk bed then putting the first piece of fish onto it. He poured a capful of the oil over the pale pink flesh, before massaging it into the naked creature. His fingers dug slightly into the meat, preparing the fish for its full sacrifice. He grabbed the pepper with slick fingers and began shaking it onto the oiled flesh, eyeballing a healthy and savory amount to enjoy. He wrapped the first fish, tucking it into its coffin before starting on the second. After nestling the second, now prepped, into its own bed of foil Chilton carried the two pieces over to Will. Will stood, amber flames reflected in his face, watching the firepit.

“Ready?” Will asked, taking the fish from Chilton’s hands and placing them on grate. The flames tickled the foil but didn’t fully envelop it.

Will turned back to the car, leaving Chilton to relish in the distant warmth of the fire. The warmth from the flames, barely reaching his pink tinted cheeks, could never rival the heat Chilton felt whenever Will placed a hand upon him.  Whenever Will so much as brushed against his side, breath floating onto Chilton’s ear lobe, leaving the ghost of a feeling for hours to come.

Will returned with two folding chairs, spreading them in the cold sand. Will cocked his head, beckoning Chilton to join him and sit down. Chilton sunk into the chair, relishing in the feeling of a break.

“They’ll only take about ten minutes,” Will said, sinking into his own chair next to Chilton’s. Chilton nodded, pulling his coat further down his arms to cover his hands. They sat there in silence, both intently staring at the fire, watching as the foil browned. Chilton wanted to say something, ached for more conversation between him and Will, but he was afraid his tongue would reveal something unsavory about himself. That he would ruin the day and send Will running, so Chilton kept quiet. Will too remained quiet, eyes flickering to Chilton’s profile for brief seconds, soaking him in. Chilton resisted the urge to look at Will, to match his gaze.

Will stood, taking a few steps to the firepit then to the car. He grabbed a platter, the broken and glued back together one that Chilton recognized from when they last had dinner Will caught. Will shot his hand into the firepit and grabbed the first piece of foil quickly, dropping it onto the platter then reaching back in for the second. Chilton watched, mouth starting to open to ask if Will was okay but Will just returned to his seat placing the platter on the stone before them. He produced two forks from his vest pocket and extended one to Chilton, who took it wordlessly mouth still opening and closing, floundering. Will set his fork between his teeth, unwrapping the tin foil for both of them.

“Dig in,” Will said, his fork back in his hand. He dug the utensil into the steaming dish, moving a piece of the white flesh into his open mouth. Chilton watched, his eyes following the journey of the fork, as Will moaned around the fork.

Chilton looked away, his cheeks heating up, and stabbed his own fork into his piece. The fish loafed, gracefully falling onto his fork before he too moved it into his open mouth. He hummed, closing his eyes briefly as he tasted it. It was juicy, but not undercooked. His tongue slid over the bass, before sinking his teeth into the peppery and moist meat, barely having to work to get it to submit to his mouth. He swallowed, understanding Will’s moan.

“This,” Chilton turned to Will, his hand working on autopilot as he tore into another piece, “is delicious.”

“Nothing beats fresh caught,” Will replied, working rapidly on his own piece, hunger outweighing the desire to respect and savor his meal. “Even better knowing you were the one who caught it.”

Chilton nodded in agreeance, teeth sinking into yet another bite. The fire, no longer held back by the grate, danced in celebration of their long day coming to an end. Chilton’s eyes watched the flames, crackles and pops from the damp wood singing to him and Will. Chilton turned his line of sight to Will, who was already looking at Chilton. Their eyes met, locking in on each other in the dark and finding balance as they relaxed beneath the night sky. Yellow and orange illuminated half of Will’s face, the other shrouded in darkness. His eyes were still intense in the dark, his hat still covering and hiding part of his face. Chilton looked away first, reaching for the last bite of his fish.

Will got up, grabbing the bucket from earlier which stored their freshly killed fish and rinsing it out in the river. He brought the bucket back to the fire pit and doused the flames in water, killing them as quick as he killed their dinner.

“We should head out,” Will said, his back turned to Chilton as he watched the flames die, “mind folding up the chairs?”

Chilton did so silently, placing his fork onto the platter. He carried them to the car, placing them in the trunk. Chilton turned to see if Will needed any more assistance only to find that Will had quietly creeped to Chilton’s side. Their eyes found each other’s in the dark again.

Chilton’s hand moved on its own accord, finding Will’s arm in the darkness, their only source of light coming from within the car as the trunk remained open and ignored. Chilton rested his hand on Will’s upper arm, moving it slowly to the ends of his curls before grasping them within his fingers. He had no clue what he was doing, but he continued on his mindless plight.

Will’s eyes didn’t leave Chilton’s, his hands hanging on his sides.

“Thank you for today,” Chilton said, finding his voice as his hand remained in Will’s curls, “I had a really good time.”

Will moved his right hand to Chilton’s neck, wrapping his fingers on the nape and barely brushing his fingertips where Chilton’s hair was cut close to his neck.

“You know there’s an old fishing tale,” Will spoke, “that if you name your lure after someone you cherish it brings you good luck.”

Chilton breathed, tightening his fingers in Will’s hair, “What did you name yours?”

“Frederick.”

**Author's Note:**

> [chilton](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DtxeCx9W0AEJj94.jpg)
> 
> reblog from [here](http://aaronabrams.tumblr.com/post/181357463005/i-found-my-reach-exceeds-my-grasp-its-good-to)


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